


sunrise serenade

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Cousy RomCom Challenge [5]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Future Fic, Romance, Sharing a Bed, poetic bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for the RomCom Challenge at johnsonandcoulson.com - Prompt: "“only one room/bed in this hotel” trope (bonus points for a jacuzzi in the room too)"





	sunrise serenade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nausicaa_of_phaeacia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/gifts).



> Title (like every fic in the series) from a song once sung by Chet Baker.

How it happens is simple.

(maybe because nothing between them has ever been)

“Daisy.”

“Yeah, I would hope that waking up next to me you’d remember my name.”

He chuckles, but it’s a bit nervous, more than a little strained. Daisy’s arm across his chest feels the echoes. Slowly they start to remember how they ended up here. The mission stretching. Uncooperative citizens. Inhumans still missing. One bed, but they were too tired to find another hotel. Coulson throwing jokes across the room, over the one bed, for once it wasn’t Daisy the one with the quick suggestive retort to mask the nerves. Now he feels like he’s swimming in a sea of pure warmth, and morning is not quite here, the light is not quite sunlight yet, and his body is mostly half asleep.

(he knows he’s _touching_ Daisy, but dulled with sleep he’s not sure which parts of his are touching her)

Daisy tries to keep her hand still, her fingers balled over the ridge of his chest like she’s trapped some extremely rare and shy animal between them, something fluttery she can’t disturb. Her gaze darts upwards, Coulson’s white t-shirt looking clean but wrinkled with sleep. Above the collar Daisy can see grey hair - the same hair she can feel through the fabric of his t-shirt, under her hand. She’s fascinated by it, the beauty of his body. She’s not used to being this close to someone, close enough to see his chest hair, the wrinkles around his mouth, the unsettling faint trace of a scar too close to the neck, the way it makes Daisy want to punish someone for it. 

Daisy is watching him, his throat aches with wanting to tell her to stop, with wanting to tell her to go on, with wanting to say her name out loud again, in the morning. He’s not used to want anymore than he is used to Daisy’s gaze on his body, any gaze on his body, on the deficient parts, the too-old bits.

Daisy slides up the bed, so that their heads are more on a level, their eyes meeting straight. She hates that she missed the moment during the night her body run away from her fear and wrapped itself around Coulson, the moment during the night Coulson’s body opened itself to her in a way his heart never has. 

Her movements -sliding up a shared bed, Coulson would laugh at the cliché if this were someone else- split something inside him. 

They had mocked the idea last night, sober with exhaustion. What’s sharing a bed between friends, co-workers, family, two adults with an intense trust between them? Coulson had even felt strangely happy not to be alone at night - while there was nothing strange about Daisy feeling exactly the same. Their bodies, even down to tops and underwear, had been safe enough. There was only awkwardness, embarrassment, the unfamiliar. Not this.

Not this _thing_ between them.

(new? or just illuminated for the first time? awaiting the right angle of early-morning sunlight over the right pillow, the right sleepy eye, the right spot covered in grey hair?)

She wonders if this the reason why they have always touched so little, have never been physically close, their hugs only under duress, their hands never lingering. Were they unconsciously trying to avoid this (another complication, another risk)? This pulls? Daisy fears she might be the only one feeling it now - and her stomach drops.

Coulson closes his eyes for a moment, too many sensations at the same time, too many to add Daisy’s eyes on him, the reality of Daisy face close enough on the pillow to be something out of a dream he never dreamed.

No, he feels it too. She’s _sure_ of it. The proof in front of her: long eyelashes, and a frown of concentration, stuck between the habit of pulling away and the laziness of limbs entwined, warm bed sheets. She’s sure of it, sure he wants this as much as she does, sure in the fact that he couldn’t look away, only close his eyes.

Then a noise in the hallway, like someone turning on a radio. Someone turning on a radio. That’s the noise. The cleaner, probably. Some soft unrecognizable instrumental piece. Sounds romantic - but then. Daisy posits, anything would.

“Is there music in the hallway or am I imagining things?” Coulson asks.

Daisy smiles. “You’re not imagining things. But I’m flattered.”

His eyes widen a bit - he hates that Daisy is so close that he can’t hide anything from her, he loves that Daisy is so close. 

She opens her hand, spreading her fingers across Coulson’s chest. It feels good to cover more territory, Daisy wishes she were a giant, so she’d have more skin to touch to his body. She presses her knee against Coulson’s skin, wishing for a giant’s boldness too.

The light changes, becoming light-light and Daisy suddenly backlit, sharp edges, her hair like a miracle, eyes red with sleep and lack of, her face achingly familiar, like a room you can walk across in the dark. Something too precious to risk for a moment of warmth on a hotel bed.

“Daisy, this is…”

“A bad idea?” she offers. And he nods, but it’s so half-hearted that Daisy’s own heart leaps; he can feel it, leaping against his side. It’s overwhelming, the idea that she… “Against the rules? Might mess up our friendship?”

All of those things, and all of those things are weak excuses too.

He didn’t know they were excuses at all.

(didn’t know there was something he had to make excuses for)

“On the other hand, if we do this now, we can try the jacuzzi later,” she points out.

“What kind of hotel doesn’t have two beds available but can offer a room with jacuzzi,” Coulson wonders out loud - it’s the second time he does, he did it last night, but more clumsily, trying to cover up his fear, his embarrassment.

“Have you ever been in a jacuzzi with a Director of SHIELD?” Daisy asks, faux suggestively.

“Yes,” he replies. “But he wasn’t Director yet.”

He’s stalling. Daisy has noticed too. She also notices the light filtering through the blinds is a bit clearer now, a bit harsher. They are at risk of losing the dream-like warmth of not being completely awake yet.

She moves her fingers from his chest to his chin, cupping his face with one hand.

“I really want to try kissing you right now,” she tells him. “Just once. If you tell me to stop I’ll stop.”

He indicates with his gaze that he will let her try.

At least try. 

Sleep is ebbing off her body so Daisy grabs the last bits of night-courage she has. She draws a sharp breath before kissing him, her body curling tighter around the edges of Coulson’s body. He can feel the warmth between her legs as she presses her thigh against his hip.

Coulson closes his eyes again, stiffening his body with only a hint of pun-intended, tensing up like he is getting ready for a slap or to be submerged in icy water or to receive a first kiss.

In a moment they go from being almost-everything to being everything.

Daisy doesn’t press her mouth against Coulson’s, but rather she runs it across the length of his lips, brushing gently. His mouth trembles underneath. She steadies him with two fingers holding his jaw. Don’t run away, don’t run away.

The music keeps playing, infiltrating the mood of the room from behind the door. Someone is humming along the tune. The world is curiously alive. It’s not just them. Everything is alive. They are part of it all.

Daisy doesn’t linger more than she has to; she only asked Coulson to let her _try_.

She rests her head on his shoulder again afterwards, and waits patiently for an answer.

But of course Coulson knew the moment Daisy kissed him he wouldn’t want her to stop.

(he knew this; just like he didn’t know sharing a bed would lead to it)

“No,” he says. “Don’t stop.”

Daisy moves her hand down towards his chest, catching the fluttering animal there again.

“I won’t,” she promises. “It’s okay. I won’t.”


End file.
